Chaos Theory
by Black-Death
Summary: "...It is the nether abyss, an empty thing. The first state of the universe and ourselves..." Please R&R.
1. Havoc

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or assorted characters. If I did, I'd be living it up in Tahiti and wouldn't have to resort to such low-budget entertainment. J.K. Rowling is god, what can I say?  
  
~^~^~  
Virginia Weasely was no longer the "little girl" of the Weasely clan.  
  
In fact, she hated even being referred to as a 'girl' at all.  
  
It seemed that somewhere down the line she had gotten the idea into her head that anything considered "gentle," "feminine," or "delicate" didn't deserve her time or patience. Some how women had become weak in her eyes. Stupid, fragile beings with little to no true worth; that is, save for those exceptions that she knew and personally respected. For instance her mother, and close friend Hermione Granger.  
  
Where such a strange perception could have originated from, an outsider couldn't say. Nowadays no one could really know for sure what went on in the youngest Weasely's mind. If truth was to be told, most probably didn't want to. Perhaps they believed her thoughts far too disturbing to invoke further curiosity.  
  
In a way, they were correct.  
  
Ever since her first year and her experience with the Chamber of Secrets, she had been an oddly silent child. Quiet and introverted just were not qualities easily adjusted to in a family of six brash and rowdy kin. It seemed always one of them was attempting to pull her out of the proverbial 'shell' she had erected around herself like a comforting shroud. But she couldn't be pulled; at least not permanently. She always did return to that secure, warm place of solitude residing within the quagmire of her thoughts.  
  
She had been metamorphosing for three years. Three years she had grown and developed, building and constructing new mazes and passageways within her being. New facets that had yet to show their faces to anyone. But she knew they were there nonetheless.  
  
The caterpillar had molded a chrysalis and had transformed.  
  
Though not into a butterfly.  
  
Virginia would have sneered and then laughed at such a flowery analogy in context with herself.  
  
No, she had transformed into something strong. Superior to any thin-winged, supple-legged insect.  
  
Superior to any stupid, naïve and batty-eyed young woman her age.  
  
She had become her own nameless deity. Her own distant, isolated goddess.  
  
And she worshipped none but herself.  
  
Perhaps some would call her a fool if they knew this. Maybe they would think her arrogant and daft. What did she care though? They were all lambs. Lambs lining up for the inevitable slaughter. Such soft, doe-eyed little fawns they were, all young and awkward with the treacherous force of life's spark. How terribly they handled it. These soft-fleshed, dull-witted little calves that paraded around as though they were infallible. Stuck on the illusion of their immortality.  
  
Had she been like /them/ before?  
  
Yes, but she had learned. Learned quicker than most. And someday, someday soon, they would as well. And oh, how she yearned for that such day. A day when she could finally have the first truly worthwhile conversations of her life with individuals who could grasp what was so blatantly obvious to her now.  
  
But all good things come to those who wait.  
  
Voldemort had been the only one she had thus far come across who had understood. He had understood the pain of the Wait in its entirety. The Wait that would someday be over, she was sure. A wait that stretched on and on, and at times, they feared they wouldn't live long enough to see the end of. A wait they had feared that they wouldn't get the chance to celebrate the conclusion of.  
  
This thing they both waited for was the Enlightenment of others. The "Big Realization" when all would come to terms with living, and exactly with what the universe was all about.  
  
One word. Funny how we think everything in existence is so complex and cannot possibly be summed up into one so simple an utterance. But it is that One Word that means everything and nothing in the same breath. This One Word that is simple in itself, yet takes on the meaning of all things beyond our reach.  
  
Chaos.  
  
And Tom, her dear Tom, had fashioned himself Mayhem, Chaos's son.  
  
"Ginny! Are you even listening to a damn word I'm saying?" The disgruntled, purple face of her brother bobbed into her line of vision, temporarily leaving the youngest Weasely bereft of her reverie.  
  
She smiled, nodding blithely, a serene smile turning up the corners of her lips.  
  
"Don't call me that infernal little name Ronald Weasely. It practically screams 'innocent-school girl.' You know how I hate it."  
  
The elder boy scowled somewhat, eyebrows knotting up and twisting into contemplation. Or what passed for contemplation to Ron.  
  
"You never /used/ to dislike it," he mumbled as they continued to saunter their way to the Quidditch pitch.  
  
Calmly, she goaded him, knowing exactly how to dig her claws under his skin. But not too harshly. He was her family, after all.  
  
"Different people like different things Ronald."  
  
With that evasive reply, she began walking faster, leaving her brother to straggle on behind her, at war with the worry for his "bottled-up little sister" that had began to devour his family from the inside out.  
  
/I wonder if you know just how different I mean Ron./  
  
No matter.  
  
/If you are Mayhem Tom/ Virginia thought, /then I might as well be Havoc./  
  
After all, Chaos needs a daughter.  
~^~^~  
  
I don't ask for much. Just read and review. If you like it, leave something, you don't, please, no flames. My fragile emotional state no doubt cannot take it.  
  
Upcoming chapters will be installed depending on input. 


	2. A Blessing in Disguise

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or assorted characters. If I did, I'd be living it up in Tahiti and wouldn't have to resort to such low-budget entertainment. J.K. Rowling is god, what can I say?  
  
~^~^~  
  
"Ah ha! There you are you carrot-topped git! You promised that you'd meet me in the library an hour ago. May I ask just /where/ you were?"  
  
Ronald Weasely glanced up at the irritated voice of his long time love and long time friend, Hermione Granger.  
  
It was moments like these that he didn't know what to do with himself. It was always a choice between either A) standing his ground and *gulp* trying to maintain some semblance of manhood in the face of her terror, or B) running like hell from his lady love's encroaching wrath.  
  
Now normally, after carefully considering the above options, he would choose the former. He was after all, a Gryffindor.  
  
But today was just not the day for heroics in the presence of his 'Mad 'Mione.'  
  
Ron Weasely, brave Gryffindor Team Quidditch Captain, and courageous companion to one, Harry James Potter that he was, turned tail and ran.  
  
"What-Ron. Wait. Ron! You bloody coward! You're going to have to deal with me eventually! How dare you do this to your fiancé? I can't believe you! Garrgh! Men /suck! /  
  
"Hello Hermione," Virginia grinned innocently. Vaguely, she wondered if this would be the day that the curly-haired Prefect would breath fire through her nostrils.  
  
Oh, how she hoped.  
  
The young woman did a double take, glancing in astonishment at the red head. "Gi-Virginia! I'm so sorry; I didn't even notice you there. Can you /believe/ the spinelessness of your brother? Did you see what he just /did/ to me?"  
  
She quirked her mouth, sarcasm knitting her brows slightly, "How could I not? I was standing right here when he fled from you as though the hounds of Hades were nipping at his heals. Don't be too hard on him though, Hermione. He's a boy. A boy who just happens to be scared shitless of his future spouse's rage. I really must commend you though. I admire the way you managed to tether my brother to such a tight leash."  
  
/Virginia always can lighten the mood, / Hermione thought, /thank god she isn't like every other Weasely I've ever met. Indeed, what a blessing in disguise. /  
  
The brunette smiled softly and touched the other student's shoulder. "I do wonder what caused him to react that way though. It's not like I'm going to /kill/ the damned prat. It's only that he had promised for weeks that he would not miss this study session for the N.E.W.T.S. since he has been constantly making excuses for the other ones he has been absent from. I swear, that boy just /doesn't/ know what's good for him."  
  
The youngest of the Weasely offspring chuckled, a raw, scraping sound that made the Granger girl flinch, momentarily removing her hand.  
  
Virginia smoothed back some of the hair falling into her view, tilting her head and staring steadily at the sky above. Ginny, as Hermione still privately thought of her, used to have such clear blue eyes. Nothing as intense or penetrating as Harry's green, but they were once able to cut to the core of a person with no less capacity. She supposed they still did just that, as the other's gaze regarded her once more, it's cold, self- assured nature pressing icy fingers to the base of her spine. But now there was something amiss lurking in their clouded depths. A strange combination of lost innocence and darkness intermingling and setting her apart from the rest of the world.  
  
Somehow, Ginny Weasely's eyes had become wardens, gatekeepers guarding the entry to her soul.  
  
And the young Prefect wasn't sure anyone possessed the key to unlock it.  
  
"He's worried about me. I needn't have been that astute to guess it. The entire family practically wears it on their forehead, like those horrid, flashing muggle signs. 'Ginny' they ask, 'tell us what troubles you, we want to help.' And if that isn't enough, I try and assuage their doubts time and time again that there is nothing the matter with me. That we just live on separate planets. I'm the only introvert in a family of extroverts, so you can plainly see how it is they manage to think of me as an alien, rather than another branch of the family. I'm just fed up with everyone trying to diagnose me. With everyone trying to psychiatrically evaluate me. I'm perfectly fine, whereas all are trying to place a problem where there was never one to /begin/ with. So I've stopped attempting to make them see. Because if they haven't by now, they never will. Ron just needs to let go and focus on himself rather than protecting the sanity of his /'wittle 'ol baby sister.'/ I don't need anybody's protection, let alone his."  
  
The Granger girl pursed her lips, wondering aloud, "I see what you mean, Virginia. But honestly, you /have/ changed since the events in /that/ year. When I was first introduced you, you were so young and vibrant. Everything held some mystery for you to unravel. Everything was so new to you. You may be blind to it, but I do think Voldemort had more of an influence on what you've grown into more than you do. You've just become so damned /cold. /"  
  
There was a period of silence that swirled around them, as she gave the young girl before her time to let this sink in. No emotion was detected by Hermione, save for.what was it? A hint of something flitting across the surface, like the wind rippling a shallow pool. /Betrayal. /  
  
Gone so quickly was this, that not for the first time, she wished she had some magical password to slip into Ginny Weasely's mind.  
  
The redhead's eyes were hard now, stiff and unbending as steel. There was an almost strangled sound that ruptured forth from her throat, setting her companion's nerves on end.  
  
"Et tu Brutus? Et tu?" She had quoted Shakespeare, one of the greatest wizard literary geniuses, as though it were a language she had been tutored in everyday since birth.  
  
"Ginny.wait."  
  
But the brunette's reflexes weren't fast enough, and all she could do was watch the wan figure of her friend walk with determined steps away from her back to the school.  
  
It was now the second time Hermione Granger was eluded that day.  
~^~^~  
  
For god's sake, please read and review. I've seen other authors (and forgive my arrogance if you wish to call it that) who can't even spell properly get millions of them, while those who do put effort forth don't get anything. Be a Good Samaritan. 


	3. Questions of Engagement

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or assorted characters. If I did, I'd be living it up in Tahiti and wouldn't have to resort to such low-budget entertainment. J.K. Rowling is god, what can I say?  
  
~^~^~  
"Hey Weasely, sure you belong in the /women's/ locker room?" This from the annoyingly nasal voice of Paula Schefield.  
  
A few of the Gryffindor girls snickered raucously at that, though most were either too tired from the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff that had just ended, or weren't interested enough to take much notice.  
  
Whatever reaction the blonde had been anticipating from the redhead on her right, she didn't receive. Only ignorance, the Weasely girl not missing a beat at all as she finished lacing up her boots. Paula was inwardly seething at how anyone could dismiss her so completely from her awareness.  
  
Leaning against the locker, she folded her arms and casually did a once- over on the young bitch before her. Weasely hadn't grown that much since third year, and still stood at 5'7, whereas she was 5'5. Yeah, she had delicacy on her side, she could attest to that. Weasely towered over her much like a Neanderthal would; though she was by no means imposing in the least. She'd lopped off most of her hair last year, finally settling upon a style much like most of the boys wore at their school. Paula guessed that she claimed it 'easier to handle' but she thought she knew better.  
  
/Probably just a dyke who's yet to come out of the closet, / she mentally criticized, facial features forming an ugly smile of self-importance.  
  
Virginia Weasely was watching the slender female out of the corner of her eye without detection. She never could understand Paula Schefield's roiling hate for herself. She didn't have any special talent or skills that the other didn't possess. She was by no means more attractive than the girl, and Schefield was richer than her (though if she allowed herself the truth about her relatives, most wizarding families were) and she was better known throughout Hogwarts.  
  
Not that she prized popularity, no. In fact if Virginia could fade into a wall like Nearly-Headless Nick could, she'd be perfectly content. Honestly, she couldn't figure out why the blonde girl detested her very existence. Maybe some people did just hate others for no distinguishable reason or purpose.  
  
The young student finished her task and reached back into her locker, searching a bit for the Restoration Salve Pomfrey had equipped all the teams with. Gods, the hunger pains seemed more frequent now since she had been accumulating muscle mass. Her metabolism had skyrocketed significantly and she found herself with a surplus of energy.  
  
/Ah, I can't wait till dinner / she mused. In all likelihood she would probably tear into the rolls and snocker down milk like some ravenous boar.  
  
With that thought lingering, she deposited the rest of her gear into the satchel and headed over to the doors, catching the disdainful eyes of her adversary in the process as she stepped away from the lockers, as though the redhead had become the bubonic plague.  
  
"Aw, fuck you too Princess," she said with saturnine-sweetness, the cockiness of her attitude reflecting in the sashay of her hips.  
  
Heading up toward Gryffindor Tower was always a bit of a nuisance when one was physically exhausted, and she didn't think it anything else but that when she arrived and opened the door to her room, sighing as she finally felt the weight of the day anchor upon her shoulders.  
  
As she stepped toward her bureau, intending to stash her parcel within it, she was accosted with an unseen hand wrapping around her mouth.  
  
"What-the-FUCK?!" She squawked, confusion, fear and adrenaline flooding her system.  
  
Virginia's nerves were abruptly soothed, however, as soon as she got a good look at her would-be foe's face in the dim lamplight.  
  
"Goddamnit Ronald Weasely! Don't you EVER do that to me again! You about gave me a mother-fucking heart attack! I could kill you with my bare hands!" She wailed, body coming down off of the chemical high that had jump- started her heart.  
  
His eyes glinted mischievously, sheepish grin lending a touch of apology in hopes of quelling her anger at him.  
  
"I'm sorry Gin, I just couldn't resist. You should have seen your face! You looked like a frazzled porcupine with your hair all sticking up like that."  
  
"Fucker," the youngest Weasely mumbled, punching with little effort at her elder sibling's head.  
  
He guffawed amusedly at her expense and quieted somewhat, eyes dancing with mirth, as he held up his hands in the universal gesture of peace.  
  
"By the way, did Harry let you have his cloak for the evening? I didn't even think he could bare to part with it after the last stunt you pulled."  
  
"The last stun- what do you mean the last stunt /I/ pulled? I'll have you know that /I/ wasn't the one who spilled pumpkin juice all over it. Our beloved Mr. Potter did that himself when he had made a few late-night rounds down to the kitchen for some snacks from Dobby. How the hell was I supposed to know that Mrs. Norris could smell that crap a mile away? And besides, who'd think a cat would love /pumpkin juice/ so much she'd run an invisible man down hunting for it? I was clawed to death I'll have you know! If Harry had just been more sensible to begin with-"  
  
"I'm sure. Now to get to the point, why did you want to see me? You'd have better make it quick before Mcgonnagal realizes you're in the girl's dorm. She's been keeping a sharp eye on you since the Underwear Incident."  
  
The freckled boy slapped a hand over his face, rubbing his cheek as though to ease an old wound. "Let's not even delve into /that/ one, sis. Please spare me the memories."  
  
Virginia rolled her eyes heavenward, wishing that she could forget some of the pranks her brother and her brother's best friend had delighted in construing.  
  
"So? I'm waiting. What're you here for that's so important it couldn't have waited till dinner-time for?"  
  
Ron's smile stretched wider across his face if that were possible, the dimples now appearing, adding additional character. "I originally was going to come up here and cast Petrificus on you, so you wouldn't have a choice but to listen about how worried we all are for you. But be grateful that I decided I wasn't in the mood to have my head decapitated and roasted over an open spit tonight, else I would have. So I came here for a different purpose."  
  
She raised an eyebrow with mock inquisitiveness. "Which is?"  
  
He walked over to the bed and plopped down, throwing the cloak half-hazard on the floor, as he rested his head back on his arms and turned to study her.  
  
"You know how I haven't been able to get 'Mione a proper engagement ring yet, right? Well, I ditched History of Magic today and went down to Muggle London. That's what the cloak's been being used for. Harry was a bit miffed when he realized I was going today and that he couldn't ditch with me since he had Snape first period. We'll I was down there for about two good hours and I couldn't find a single thing that suited her. The rings were either all too gaudy or flashy, or too delicate and plain. None of them were for my 'Mione. However, after finding that nothing had caught my eye that was of significant interest, and knowing that the clock was ticking away and that Potions would be starting for me pretty soon, I was on my way to Diagon Alley when fate dealt it's cards. Wouldn't you know I happened to glance at a window when I was leaving and there it was. The /perfect/ ring for Herms. Here, I've got it with me right now, I'll show you."  
  
He fished for the small cargo within his pocket and when he did pull it out, he popped it open with an extravagant flourish, as though it were the crown jewels. Virginia scoffed lightly as her brother wiggled his eyebrows for dramatic effect.  
  
She opened the tiny box with deliberate poise and peered inside, lips curling smugly at the excited expression on her sibling's face.  
  
"You know, I think you've managed to get away with it this time. No doubt she'll /have/ to forgive you for running from her with your tail between your legs after she sees this. Now Hermione isn't a materialistic woman, but what's worse is she's slightly on the sentimental side. As I'm sure you already know. She'll adore it. The intricacy is exquisite as well as the cut of the rubies and ivy. You've done me proud, Ronald. She'll be very surprised. In fact, admittedly I am too. Who'd have guessed you'd have it in you?"  
  
His chest swelled up with pride, face flushing with color at the compliment. "Who'd have guessed I'd had what in me?" He queried, attempting to look subtle while searching for further flattery.  
  
"Taste," Virginia shrugged.  
  
A blankness over took his eyes for a moment, then a look of pure amusement as he cuffed her upside the head and laughed, a nice healthy belly laugh.  
  
"You can be such a ponce when you put your mind to it, little girl," He stated this hurriedly, then swiftly bent down and planted a smooch upon her forehead, roaring with laughter again at the sneer of disgust crinkling her nose.  
  
"It never fails with you does it?"  
  
"That's what big brothers are for."  
  
"Whatever you say. All right, off with you now, I have some much-needed rest to catch up with. Oh, and can you tell Hermione that I'm sorry about today, that I shouldn't have reacted so badly?"  
  
The Weasely boy crooked his neck sideways, "What'd you guys get into an argument of sorts? What was it about?"  
  
She waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head. "Nothing of too much importance, just tell her that I'm sorry, alright?"  
  
"Of course, no problem," with that he threw on the invisibility cloak once more and just as she heard the footfall of his shoes lumbering across the oak floor, Virginia picked up on the elder Weasely muttering under his breath:  
  
"I've got taste. What does /she/ know?"  
~^~^~^~  
  
All right, I've said it before. Reviews are food for my soul. Please make my heart happy and tell me what a wonderful author I am. *grins. Well, you don't have to tell me that, but what can I say, I'm a mooch. Just give me something to work with. The other chapters will be tossed out shortly. Don't worry.You'll be getting a goodly-sized shitload of Tom VERY soon. 


	4. Between Black and White lye the Shades o...

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or assorted characters. If I did, I'd be living it up in Tahiti and wouldn't have to resort to such low-budget entertainment. J.K. Rowling is god, what can I say?  
  
~^~^~  
  
It's always when Virginia is sleeping that she gives herself the permission to ponder him.  
  
It is just thinking after all. Dread figments of the mind. How can it pain all of the others in her life to let go of cares and moral obligations in the realm of the surreal? How would any of them ever guess that still, she thought of those days.  
  
Thought of him.  
  
/What they don't know can't her them. /  
  
Besides. That one is dead. He can't come back just because the youngest of the Weasely children is thinking of him once more.  
  
Yes, Tom Marvelo is dead, floating someplace in the seas of oblivion where he cannot extend his grasp. The only place he exists now is within the memories of victims, supporters and enemies alike.  
  
And her.  
  
But she was something entirely set aside from those categories.  
  
She had created her own.  
  
Memory. It was all she had now.  
  
No, that isn't the right word to describe what she recollects of Voldemort. Somehow its too clean, too /nice/ to illustrate something so dirty.  
  
She supposes Harry Potter was the only one who began to penetrate just what it was that had transpired between Slytherin's Heir and herself.  
  
But he was incorrect about one thing. Golden boy had made one grave, grievous error.  
  
He believed that she had loved Tom Riddle.  
  
Whereas he'd never declared this theory out loud to her nor anyone else, she knew what roamed the plains of his thoughts all the same.  
  
It was there, shoved to the fore of his gaze when he would chance and sometimes purposefully lock eyes with her.  
  
/Peering through a glass darkly. /  
  
Such a beseeching manner about Harold Potter really. It was almost like he was begging for her to confirm this so that he could feel justified casting her into hell, finally claiming herself to be 'evil' without innocent blood staining his conscience. She often did wonder if he truly hated her, or just was disconcerted with the idea of her continued existence.  
  
Not that she blamed him.  
  
It was actually quite reasonable. When you believe someone you trust to love your parent's murderer, the one whom has made your life a prison from which there is no escape, and not to mention the scourge of an entire people, it tends to be unpleasant.  
  
If the youngest Weasely had been awake, she would have gone into laughing fits at that meek little understatement.  
  
But even so, the boy was wrong. So callously wrong. One simply couldn't make any type of relation to Voldemort as black and white as ally/enemy, or love/hate. It was those beguiling shades of gray in between most chose to ignore, that were the only true definitions one could give to such an indefinite creature.  
  
No, she never had loved Tom Marvelo Riddle.  
  
But she had never hated him either.  
  
The darker one that she cloaked from her peers would also agree that she didn't even hate his crimes, or atrocities he had supposedly made her 'suffer' through.  
  
Suffer? She never tasted such an emotion at his hands. Why make your most valuable asset suffer needlessly while you manipulated it for your own means?  
  
A wise being doesn't bite the hand that feeds it. Voldemort knew this. Why cause harm to that which sustains your continued survival?  
  
And despite the general populous's reservations against any positive attribute raised in comparison with their Monster, she had none.  
  
Her Tom /was/ a wise creature, murdering bloodlust for all things Muggle pushed aside.  
  
There lay within her awareness an enigmatic respect for that. One she couldn't fully analyze herself.  
  
He'd had green eyes Virginia knew, recalling what little she had gleaned from the image he had projected in the Chamber before she had fallen within the confines of magical-induced slumber.  
  
Yes, green eyes and black hair. So physically alike his antithesis, Harry Potter, that it could make the skin crawl.  
  
Marvelo had been tall and lank, and he had moved just as serpentine as the House that Salazar built had probably intended him to.  
  
And he had been so polite, painfully so. He'd obviously been brought up in posh society, or had cultivated himself to cast the pre-fabricated illusion of it.  
  
Virginia never had been a foolish first year, no matter how others had told the story.  
  
The moment she had scribed that first sentence in the diary and had received a reply in return, she'd been suspicious of her new 'friend' knowing intuitively his ambitions already.  
  
She could have put a stop to all before it had ever begun. Before it ever had the possibility to.  
  
But who ever said that she was a saint?  
  
The redhead hadn't wanted to, even with the insight she'd possessed at the time.  
  
He had been her friend, confident. Virginia had trusted him simply because she knew that she shouldn't do so. When one gets the immediate impression that they are being lied to, what more can one worry about? Why keep sifting through reasons for their motives once you already know them to be the worst kind?  
  
Twisted logic, she was sure, but hey. It worked.  
  
And there had been an intriguing rapport between them. So the youngest Weasely would often ask herself if he hadn't known something subconsciously that she had recognized his intentions as well as he did, and that she wouldn't stop him if he accidentally let 'slip' some of the reality of his association with her.  
  
Maybe this had allowed Tom to confide in Virginia just as she had him.  
  
Yes, that seemed very plausible. But who could know with Riddle? He was Voldemort for Merlin's sake!  
  
Not that it mattered anymore. Her companion was long since lost to her now.  
  
Had she always known that Tom would be taken from her? Was that why she hadn't chosen to halt the events of the Chamber of Secrets before they ever had occurred?  
  
Because she was human, and had wanted to enjoy it while it had lasted.  
  
Even at the world's expense.  
  
So what if she was selfish, she didn't debate that. But did it make her /bad/ as well? Was she evil?  
  
Her sleeping brain was filled momentarily with hilarity at the thought.  
  
Who knows? Perchance it did. Perhaps Dumbledore and Harry, as well as the others on the side of 'Light' would think this.  
  
She didn't know. Couldn't possibly know for sure what their opinions would be. How could she anticipate them? Hell, for all she knew they could be thinking thoughts along the same lines.  
  
But what the young student did comprehend and took as fact was this:  
  
The world could have a time judging her. She wasn't bothered by it.  
  
If it gives them something to do, why not let the bastards toy with it?  
  
Tom Marvelo wasn't the only shade of gray wavering between the lines.  
  
Virginia Weasely resided in that position as well.  
  
She knew that in the end, the only one who could ever sufficiently and truthfully measure all that she was would be herself.  
  
And she had already reached her resolve.  
  
She was Divine.  
  
~^~^~^~^~  
*blinks. Wow. My fingers are very sore from typing, so I think I'll go lie down now. Read and Review, as always please. 


	5. Pandemodium in the Great Hall

Walking down to the Great Hall was never easy. She could always feel the probing eyes of her fellow housemates smooth over her body with a scrutiny that was almost artful as she entered. At instances such as this, the redhead would even be tempted to stake the bet that she was nearly as popular as Harry himself was in this school.  
  
Huh. It did serve to spark the imagination at least.  
  
Sometimes Virginia's ears would capture the last fragments of gossip as she would brush past an anonymous Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. Whether it was a question of her sanity, sexuality, or bathing habits, the youngest Weasely would usually find herself inwardly amused at the social slander raining down upon her head. The Slytherins weren't the only heralds of idle talk in Hogwarts. The entire student body worked as an undertow, oblivious to it's own pecking order.  
  
"Virginia what are you doing? Come sit by me," this from none other than Colin Creevy.  
  
Her nostrils flared in distaste, as though she had unwittingly stepped in a pile of Harpy dung and had just become aware of it.  
  
It wasn't that the Creevy boy was totally hopeless. Virginia had humored him and had gone on a Hogsmeade outing he had asked her to in fourth year. She'd had nothing better to do, so why not? Though he was mildly interesting and had a genuinely likeable nature, she now actually just thought of him as a lab experiment that had gone wrong, a pestilence that had formed by being mixed with too many 'nice' ingredients in her cauldron. It was the decent qualities that had grated on her nerves. He wasn't human enough. Not any darkness there.  
  
So where was the magnetism?  
  
Raising an eyebrow in plain disregard to the invite, she gathered her robes in hand and sauntered over next to Celia Burkham, a seventh year Ravenclaw prefect whom she had found herself lusting over a few months ago.  
  
Celia was beautiful. She would never be the kind haughty enough to have a superiority complex about her voluptuous good looks, but she prided herself on being able to use them to her advantage nonetheless. After all, when one is bestowed with a natural asset, why not put it into play?  
  
She was a hedonist by birth, and enjoyed all and anything that spoke of the aesthetic or visually pleasing. She also took meticulous care in the pursuit of physical pleasure. This love of beauty and the human form enabled her to be easily considered an artist, though grant it, she couldn't coordinate a paintbrush if her life depended on it. The heiress to the Burkham fortune understood that which was lovely and sensual, carrying this simple comprehension at the forefront of her persona. No man or woman had thus far been able to be in her proximity without commenting on her attractiveness. Ah, sometimes she couldn't tell which she salivated after more. Was it the girl's mind, which was drowned in an over abundance of aphrodisial properties, or her body?  
  
"Weasely, to what do I owe this pleasure? Why aren't you sitting with your beloved Gryffindors today?" Burkham crooked a smile at this, pale eyes defrosting somewhat.  
  
Virginia sighed resignedly, shrugging in adherence to the quandary. "I just wasn't in the mood to watch my darling brother kissing the hem of Hermione's robes in apology. Men can be so stupid at times. How do you cope with them when they're like that Celia?"  
  
The seventh year's pink tongue darted out coyly, velvet tresses bobbing in delight as she threw her head back in amusement.  
  
"Ah, but you already know how I deal with it Virginia." There was a sultriness added to the inflection of her name hat never ceased to make the base of her spine tingle with arousal. Yes, she knew all too well how Celia 'dealt' with the burden of men and their fickle ways. She had spent many a night with her in the library finding out.  
  
"Tell me, what can I do? It isn't easy to say 'no' someone as persuasive as you. Resistance is futile with the prospect of fucking one of the most desirable of my fellow students atop the Herbology and DADA texts staring me right in the face. I'm you're your other 'pets' will agree with this as well."  
  
The girl shook her head in amazement at the youngest Weasely's boldness. Sometimes, Virginia was so blunt, it could shock even to most vulgar of sea- faring men.  
  
But hell, that was what she was fascinated with about the girl. Subtle passion mixed with the flavor of neutrality. Virginia had a ruthless guile, so substantial it was near tangible. She took what she wanted, needed, and harbored no regrets for her actions.  
  
That's why she was always happy to lend a 'quick fix' when Virginia was having 'emotional troubles.'  
  
Her 'selflessness,' if you wished to call it that, was never in vain either. The redhead was one lover she would think of with fond memories on dark, lonely nights when she was married and tied down to the first wealthy suitor her father found.  
  
Celia Burkham leaned over the bench, wiping nonexistent dust off of the redhead's House badge as she mumbled for her friend to have a seat.  
  
Virginia grinned, expertly sliding into the space provided.  
  
"Don't look now, but Creevy's giving you The Eye. He is such a sweet little thing. Why ever did you not 'test the waters' out?  
  
An audible groan of frustration was heard to her right. "Let's not even go into the issue of Reasons Why I Won't Date Collin Creevy. Please just accept it as he isn't my type."  
  
Celia nodded, absently picking up her cutlery and stabbing a piece of Beef Wellington. "That's fine. I'm only complaining because I have a fetish for defiling innocent virgin blood. Would you let me have a go at him then?"  
  
The other girl snorted, giving a charitable wave of her hand in the blonde boy's direction.  
  
"Do whatever you want. Merlin knows the boy could use some experience. Just be sure not to tell me what I'm missing out on."  
  
The Burkham Heiress smirked, lips full and rosy. "I wouldn't dream of it."  
  
Finishing the meal in comfortable silence, Virginia got up from her seat and made a quick trek over to where the Magnificent Trio resided after scheduling a 'study session' for tomorrow night with the luscious prefect in the Restricted Section.  
  
"Hallo Gin. Why'd you go over to the 'ol Raven's table first?" Seamus Finnegan teased, a knowing expression in his eyes.  
  
She sent a vexing glance over his way. "To get a good lay Seam. I'm sure you've heard how deprived I am."  
  
If Ron had been partaking in the conversation, he would have choked on his pumpkin juice, however as it was, Harry and Dean made gratifying substitutes.  
  
A bright flush broke out over the two boys faces, though Virginia and the Irishman continued on, the dialogue might as well have been about the weather with how little sentiment they brought forth into it.  
  
"You know I'd be happy to help a damsel in distress anytime. All you need to do is ask," the sandy haired student gave a lascivious wink.  
  
"I'll be sure to take note of your chivalry Finnegan, if ever I'm that desperate," Virginia drawled, voice laced with good-natured sarcasm.  
  
The redhead rolled here eyes skyward and was startled as she turned to find a flustered Hermione receiving kiss after slobbering kiss upon her shoes by a nauseatingly apologetic beau.  
  
"Please forgive me 'Mione! I really didn't mean to upset you! I'll never be a stupid prat like that again!" He blubbered, near hysterical with self- recrimination.  
  
His devotee was practically screeching at him, hair standing on end. "Damnation Ronald Weasely! I'm telling you now for the last time: You Are For-give-en! What more do you want me to say?!"  
  
Still, the freckle-faced boy looked unconvinced. "You don't look like you've accepted it. Normally you'll let me kiss you after we have a fight."  
  
The brown-haired Prefect scrunched her nose up at his plea, holding a finger to her temple in annoyance.  
  
"You can be such an idiot at times Ron. In case you haven't noticed, I've just devoured four rolls of garlic bread. I'm saving you from something you'll regret."  
  
The elder Weasely boy harrumphed, hurt by her insensitivity to his emotional state. "I don't care Herms! Just kiss me and I'll be out of your hair, I promise. Don't make me wheedle you."  
  
"Oh for the love of-can you be anymore of a child?"  
  
"Wheedle, wheedle, wheedle! Are you listening? I'm wheeeeeeedling you!"  
  
"Goddamnit! No more! Knock it off!"  
  
"Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeedle! Do you hear that? It's the sound of me wheeeeeedling you!"  
  
Harry shied away from his best friend's antics, knowing as a general who's faced many a battle of the same ilk knows that the war was past his saving. He preferred instead to gaze over at his object of intrigue sitting near the head of the Slytherin table with Snape.  
  
However the younger Weasely had yet to put her two-cents in. "If he's so 'fuckin adamant about it Hermione, just kiss him already! I don't know about you, but the rest of us are not up for a night of Ron pestering us to sleep."  
  
Granger sighed, slipping her hands on either side of her lover's face and giving him the smooch he had sought for. But she wasn't prepared for his enthusiasm, expecially when he snaked her out of her seat and onto his lap, tongue ravaging the insides of her mouth.  
  
"Alright, I've seen enough tonsil-hockey here. What's more is-that's disgusting Ron, it looks like your trying to suck her lungs out through your lips." Dean stared in morbid fascination at the spectacle before him.  
  
"Whoo-hoo, Ronnie boy! I give that one a ten-pointer!" Seamus howled in perverse glee.  
  
Thoroughly ruffled and exasperated, Hermione shoved her fiance away, panting like she had just ran a marathon. Ron wasn't doing much better, his chest heaving with exertion, though there was a growing appearance of disgust on his face.  
  
"Oh, that was revolting! I don't think I'll ever get that taste out of my mouth again, no matter how many times I brush!"  
  
The muggle-born prefect looked to her future sister-in-law, hoping to find a suggestion upon how she should handled her sloth of a sibling.  
  
Except that Virginia had already left their company, presumably having grown beyond a little irritated with the whole situation.  
  
Being left with her own logical solution to the problem (because if there was one thing that she always prided herself on, it was her down to earth, civilized nature) it was with the fire of the Seven Hells that Hermione Jaqueline Granger whipped out her hand and visciously cuffed her brainless love on the side of his head, earning a squeak of submission, and an extra twinkle added to Albus Dumbledore's eye as the satisfying sound of fleshing punishing flesh resonated throughout the Great Hall. 


End file.
